The Woodland Seat

Everyone had heard of the throne, but very few people had ever seen it.

The Woodland Seat was something of a local legend. If you follow the river into the woods, turn east at the huge rubber tree at the fork, walk into the setting sun, you will come to the devil's clearing. In the clearing, a place where nothing is said to grow sits a chair of stone. If you sit on the chair, you will be cursed by the devil himself for all time.

It's a story I've heard since I was old enough to go to sleepovers, and it's a story I've always wanted to prove or disprove. People have gone into the woods, and I remember the first time someone showed me shaky cam footage from a camcorder of a weird stone chair with faces carved in it. It was later proven to be fake, the chair was something they had made themselves and shot at night, but other people claim to have gone into the woods and found it. Their videos proved to be either better or worse than that first bit of wobbly cinematography that I watched on the couch at my friend John's house, but they all fed the fire of my enthusiasm. It's always been my dream to see it, the REAL seat, and when Mrs. Ragles assigned us a final project about urban legends for senior English class, it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

The assignment was actually about the cause of urban legends and she wanted us to make our own.

When I asked if we could make our project a search for The Woodland Seat, she looked absolutely tickled.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with John's senior project for AV, would it?" she'd asked, giving me a little wink.

"It might," I hedged, as good as telling her our intentions.

John and I have been friends for years, and his interest in movies, especially making them, has been ongoing since the two of us were in elementary school. John got his first camera when he was six, some cheap thing that his dad had picked up from Toys R Us after John practically begged him for it. I'd say John definitely got his money's worth from it because we spent the next four years making our own short films and "epic" movies in the backyard. Through the years, John's cameras may have changed, but his interest in filmmaking hasn't. He often calls on me and our other friends, Shawn and Fred, to star in his latest projects, and this would be no exception.

"I've got enough battery packs and memory cards to record for three days straight." he told us as we sat in his garage and suffered through his pitch meeting, "I don't see any reason why we shouldn't be able to shoot the next found footage masterpiece."

John's project, his senior film thesis, was also about Urban legends too, specifically their place in horror films. He wanted to make the Woodland Seat the antagonist in his found footage movie, the witch in his Blaire Witch project, and use us as his bumbling teen cast that go looking for it. I was looking forward to using this trip to write my own paper for Mrs. Ragles, but Shawn and Fred were just looking for an excuse to go camping for a few days in the lush woods that surround our town. We'd all grown up in the area, and the woods weren't unknown to us. We all enjoyed camping, right up until the first winter chill sent us back inside every year, and I too was looking forward to cooking hotdogs and smores as we told stories and just hung out this weekend.

So, when we told our parents we'd see them Monday night and headed into the woods Friday afternoon, we were prepared to spend three nights in nature. We had plenty of food, plenty of water, and were properly prepared with a four-man tent and sleeping bags. It was April, and the weather was already becoming unseasonably warm, so we didn't think we needed anything too strenuous. John was carrying his film equipment, his camera already out, and the three of us were carrying the stuff we would need for camping and survival, acting as his trusty pack mules.

As we came to the river, the surfacing frothing with late-season snow melt from the nearby mountains, John told me this would make a great place to film our intro.

"The river is, after all, the first leg of our journey. From here, we set out to find the Woodland Seat, and write our names for all to see across history."

I'll never forget the grin that spread across his face at that moment.

It was a golden moment, but nothing gold is made to last.

He counted me down as I stood beside the river, preparing to give my lead-in statement. Fred and Shawn had unanimously decided that I would do most of the speaking in this little movie. Neither of them really wanted to learn any of the lines John wanted read, and I had the "most video-worthy narration voice" they said. I think they just wanted to goof off on our camping trip, but, to be fair, so did I.

"This is the Leftry River, the start of our journey."

I wasn't sure I could even be heard over the rushing rapids, but John gave me a thumbs up, and I struggled on.

"Legend says that if you follow the river until you come to a huge old rubber tree, turn east, and walk into the woods until dusk, you will come to the Devil's Clearing, and find the Woodland Seat. Those who sit upon it are cursed, tormented for all eternity for daring to sit where the Devil himself once took rest. Tonight, we intend to find that seat."

"and Cut," John said, hitting the stop button as he nodded slowly, "Very nice, love it,"

"So, what happens if we don't find this rubber tree?" Shawn asked as we shouldered our packs and headed deeper into the woods.

"I guess we just wait till we find the fork in the river," I said after thinking about it for a second or two.

"What if we don't find that?" Fred asked, taking a sip from his water as the leaves smooshed wetly beneath our feet.

"Boys," John said "You're missing the point.

"Which is?" Fred asked.

"The point isn't to find the Woodland Seat or not," I said, "We're here to follow the instructions and see if we find anything or not, that's the project. The legend is what brought us here, the power of the urban legend itself, and now we seek to learn where it can take us."

Fred laughed, "So this could all be a wild goose chase is what you're telling us."

I snorted and bumped him with my shoulder, "You're getting a three camping trip out of it, Fred. Buck up."

We followed the river as the afternoon rattled on. The woods were nice this time of year. Summer was on the cusp of arriving and everything was green. The water would be too cold for swimming, though I supposed Shawn might try. Shawn liked the cold, he was built for it, and he would probably take a swim tomorrow before we set off. None of us figured we would make it to the Devil's Clearing by sunset today. We would set up camp, cook some dogs, do some fishing, and tomorrow we would proceed at sunset.

We were camping, after all, so what was the point of hurrying?

We walked most of that first day. We weren't going very fast, we had been at school all day and we weren't in any real hurry. Monday was a holiday to boot, and our parents knew we were and wouldn't expect us home till Monday night. We talked and joked, the usual high school boy banter filling our afternoon, but as the sun began to set, we started looking for this tree or this fork. We had been assured that this was the way to go by some kid who had "totally been to the Devils Clearing" and that too was part of the project. If we couldn't find our way by urban legend alone, then what was the point?

It was starting to get dark when we came to the rubber tree. It had to be the one from the story. For one, it was huge. It was far larger than any normal tree I had ever seen, and the leaves left very little mystery around its type. It was also smack in the cleft of the river, the water diverting east and west from there, and it seemed like as good a place as any to set up our tent. Shawn started assembly as Fred and I went to collect firewood. We left John to set up our firepit and returned with wood to find the pit dug and the tent already erected.

As proper dark fell around us, we filled the woods with the smell of roasting weenies, canned chili, and smores.

"So how do you reckon the chair curses you?" Fred asked, blowing the fire off his blackened hotdog before laying it across a piece of white bread.

"Dunno," said John around a mouthful of meat, and I just shrugged.

"I thought you were the expert, here," Shawn said to me as he closed his s'more into the metal square he used to toast the whole edifice.

"I mean, I know the chair is supposed to sit in the clearing, but I don't actually know anything about what it does. There are no stories about how it curses you, so I guess no one has ever been stupid enough to try and sit in it."

"Or," John said after swallowing his bite, "it's so bad that it stops anyone from talking about it."

We discussed it a little more as the night went on, but as the food was packed away and the fire was doused, we all retired to our sleeping bags for some much-needed sleep.

I think all of us thought about the seat a little as we drifted off, but it was hard to focus on much after such a long hike.

The next day was spent swimming in the river, fishing, and going over what we would do that night. John explained how we would come onto the clearing at dusk, the setting sun making a great backdrop for the film. Shawn would sit in the chair, pretending to get possessed or something while the rest of us ran into the woods. There would be lots of heavy breathing and shaky cam, and then we would begin recording again once we had set a campsite.

"We'll explain how Shawn went missing and then we'll stage some weird noises or something as we record inside the tent."

"What happens if we find the chair before dusk?" Fred asked.

"Then we stop or make circles till the time is right."

"What happens if we don't find this place at all?" Fred asked.

John shrugged, "We shoot a piece saying that our search was fruitless and that the legend remains just that."

And so, as the sun began to sink behind the trees, we set off toward it.

From the start, today's hike seemed different. The walk yesterday had been filled with talk and jokes, but today the woods seemed to scowl at the noise we were bringing into their depths. I didn't know right away if the others noticed, but I started to believe they had felt it too. Shawn had tried to initiate jokes more than once but ended up looking around guiltily when the laughter became too loud. Fred was the same way, shushing us more than once before looking around as if to ask why he had done that. John was oblivious, his camera taking it all in as we plodded. If anything, he probably thought we were playing into his vision, and was glad for the implied tension.

I found myself watching the sun as it rode lower and lower in the sky, not sure if I was dreading being in these suddenly silent woods or finding the thing I had always wanted to see. The closer we got, the more sure I was that we would find it, and that scared me. I could believe that the devil had come to this place, could believe he had walked this very path, and I found myself looking down as if I would see hoof prints. No bird song graced this place, none of the usual sounds from insects as they anticipated nightfall, and the silence was unnatural. The woods were lush, the trees thick, but the whole place felt...wrong. I didn't have a word for it at the time, but I do now.

The word I was looking for was blighted.

"When do we get to this thing?" Shawn asked as he wiped his forehead.

He turned to look at me, but I just shrugged.

"It said to walk towards the sunset and then you would find it."

"Well it better hurry up," Shawn said, "We're losing the light and we'll be setting up camp in the dark in another hour."

The sun was getting low beyond the trees and I realized he was right. The story had never actually said how far you had to walk, just that you had to follow the setting sun. Who knew how far one would actually have to go or how long you would have to slog before you got to the seat?

We walked for another twenty minutes or so before we began to see something ahead.

Something that thinned the trees as we walked.

The shadows were gathering as we approached the clearing, and it seemed that they gathered around the large and intimidating chair.

"Holy shit," John breathed, "It is real."

Boy, was it ever.

The chair was roughly five feet tall and as wide as a lazy boy recliner. It looked to be made of concrete, set with carvings of gems that were painted on with a deft hand. Across the back of the chair, right where a person's back and head would sit, were three gray faces with red eyes and open mouths. They all looked identical, but the more I looked the more I realized how different they all were. One appeared to be crying, another laughing, the middle one simply scowling. The whole construct looked like it would be at home in a mini golf course, a weird maze attraction, or even a temple found randomly in the middle of the woods. It looked as out of place in the clearing as a dining room set, and as much as I had wanted to see it, I couldn't bring myself to get too close to it. It was wrong, its very essence was foul, and I couldn't comprehend why I had ever wanted to find it in the first place.

As John recorded the thing, he pulled his eye away long enough to wave his hands and try to get Shawn's attention. He wanted him to go sit in the chair, as they discussed, and the fact that he was still standing there frustrated John. Shawn, for his part, seemed willing enough to comply but was unable. He was frozen in place, staring at the seat as if he had never seen a chair before, and John pointed at him and then back at me as he tried to get him to go.

Shawn shuddered as I shook him, looking at me almost dreamily as I got his attention.

"Go sit in the chair," I whispered, and Shawn nodded slowly as he approached it.

He was stopped, however, when Fred pushed him out of the way and made to plant himself on the seat.

"What the hell is he doing?" John mouthed.

I didn't know how to answer him. The two struggled with each other, and the fight would have looked theatrical if I didn't know they weren't acting. Both of them had this blank look, the kind of look you get when you're listening to someone on the phone while you do something else. Fred won their little scuffle, shoving Shawn back hard enough to make him fall on his butt, and claimed his prize. He took his seat on the throne, a look of deep satisfaction stretching across his face that slowly became something more exalted. Shawn just sat there, looking at him with ambivalence, and as John stepped towards him, something happened.

As he sat there, basking in the glow of his newly won seat, Fred's skin began to blister. At first, it was just a general reddening that I nearly missed in the diminishing light. It was something I could have set aside as just a sunburn until the blisters began to appear. His arms and face broke out, the puss-filled sores growing and bursting in fast motion. The blood and puss ran down the arms and seat of the chair, and as the sun set, his skin began to boil off his bones. He looked like the guys from Raiders of the Lost Ark as his bones began to show through his skin as he basked in whatever glow he was experiencing.

As he liquified in The Woodland Seat, I saw Shawn get up and shove Fred's distinctly drippy skeleton out of the chair so he could take its place. I tried to stop him, calling his name as I came towards him, but he showed no hesitation in the face of Fred's sacrifice. I looked back at John, expecting abject horror, but he had taken the camera away from his eye, and I could see him crying as he watched Shawn begin to redden. Not crying in terror or anguish, that would have been easily explained.

John was crying in exaltation, like a priest who's seen the face of God.

"John," I said, shaking him, "John, we have to go now."

He didn't seem to hear me.

He had eyes only for the quickly blistering Shawn.

"John! John!" I yelled, shaking his arm, "We need to get away from here. We need to tell someone what happened. We need to get Shawn out of that thing. We need to," but when I turned back, it was already too late.

Shawn's skin was melting off his bones, the white already visible, and as his eyes liquified in his skull, I tried to pull John away.

"John please," I begged, "Please, we have to go. Don't," but he was already walking towards the chair.

As it finished with Shawn, he shoved the skeleton out of the seat and sat down amongst the goo and the rot that lay there.

That was when I noticed something else, something I hadn't seen until Shawn's skeleton hit the earth.

Fred's bones had disintegrated into a powder, a powder that was already being taken away by the forest breeze.

I started to run, but something caught my eye before I could get out of the clearing. I saw the camera, the little handheld that John had brought into the woods, and I scooped it up before beating a hasty retreat. I fled like a coward, leaving my best friends behind, and I prayed I would never see that cursed chair again.

I stumbled through the woods for three days, eating whatever I could find and drinking from the stream when I finally got back to it. I wished many times that I had picked up one of the bags on my way out of the clearing, a tent or some food at least, but all I had was the camera and the clothes on my back.

I thought about the tent many times as I lay shivering on the damp forest floor, watching the trees for anything.

The shadow of the chair.

The walking corpses of my friends.

I wasn't sure which I was more afraid of seeing, but I just knew that both would be after me before I could escape.

When the search party found me on Tuesday, I was afraid my fears had come to pass.

They took me to the hospital, but when the police tried to question me, I just handed them the camera and trembled in the face of their questions.

That was years ago, nearly a decade, but it's something I'll never forget.

I haven't seen the footage I gave the police, and I have no desire to. The officer who reviewed it said it was the most disturbing thing he had ever seen, but it did exonerate me of the crime. I think they might have been planning to look further for the bodies of my friends, but after seeing the tape, they scrapped the idea. There was no sense in looking for kids who were no longer there and less sense in risking officers who might decide to have a seat as well.

I lost my best friends that night, and sometimes it feels like the chair cursed me after all. Everyone in town assumed I had something to do with their disappearance, though they never got the courage to say it to my face. I ended up leaving town to attend college, and I've never seen any reason to go back. Kids, however, still go missing in those woods, and I can't help but wonder how many of them are lost to The Woodland Seat.

So if you find a strange chair in the forest, steer clear.

It's made for only one occupant, though it will gladly accept you for as long as you can bear it.